


Slog

by chestgore



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sexual Tension, i wanted to add that filter just in case, if you see any mistakes or typos no you didnt heart emoji, its not that graphic but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chestgore/pseuds/chestgore
Summary: If only he could get him to shut up forever.
Relationships: Itsuki Shuu/Kagehira Mika
Kudos: 23





	Slog

**Author's Note:**

> theres depictions of physical abuse here, if youre sensitive to this topic i urge you not to read this

The stars flashing behind his eyelids were nothing compared to his radiance.  
Yet he was enamoured with them. The way they popped in and out of existence forced his pupils to dance madly.  
Opening his eyes he tried desperately to dissipate the haze, the blur of tears obstructing his view of the benevolent man giving him this sensation.  
His limbs, his head, his lower half, all became distant heat as his heart raced with threats of bursting through. In spite of clouded sight his love drenched mind had been able to process his silhouette, the mundane view was enough to break the little self-control holding him from defiance.  
From his lips, joining an unsightly stream of saliva came half a moan, the rest of it lost to a choke wrenched gasp.  
The punishment issued caused his head to roll back, without thought he raised his chest somewhat, letting the desire pooled within it ooze throughout his panicking body.  
The organic machine lurched, the tension prickling warnings to a head empty of self-preservation.  
The weight pressed into him only pushed him further into sovereignty, once again breaking an order growled in a rage unseen;

"Stop talking." 

That was the last of their usual exchange and the beginning of this new phenomenon.  
Something ghastly had been brewing inside of the ventriloquist, a stew whose broth was stress, its meat carved from anxiety. For once he couldn't tolerate the dribble of his possession. Understood between them was the law of his words, the underlying dynamic of God and man. Innocently, ignorantly the doll's mouth formed the start of another syllable.

A flame of wrath boiled his insides.

Surprised tinged the fury that had taken over, his emotions pulled at the strings of his being. The thin wire tugged at his fingers, setting his hands to fasten around the other's neck. Shock and spontaneity bringing both of them to the floor with a wordless crash.  
The adrenaline spurred blood rushing through his ears was nothing compared to the laboured breathing beneath him.  
Yet it terrified him more, for its presence signaled a loss of control. He felt himself torn in two, an unashamed animalistic half bared its fangs at prey begging for peace.  
From his fingers poured a concoction that poisoned his junior, relief guilted him as his nails injected the malice directly into his throat.  
Despite his outburst, perhaps even in spite of it, his doll made no effort to rid the harm.  
Instead he laid as motionless as one could while the air was being forced from them.  
His eyes, initially frightful, were now closed. His brows furrowed as his lips parted, desperate for oxygen.  
His junior's lungs must have been aching from the strain of keeping what little breath was left.  
And yet, his face resembled something truly vulgar, a primal transcription of the depravity running through his head.  
Cold dread began to ground the artist, quelling the inferno within. Rather than quell, the icy fear proceeded to snuff.  
For he who had thought so highly of himself, he who viewed beasts as lesser, felt the urge to act like them. Even if only for an instant, that repulsive emotion flooded his head. 

Lust had imprinted itself onto his brain, drowning out the anger and apprehension. 

Ironic that this rarity was wasted on this repugnant failure of a person.

The realization of what had occurred dug its claws into his high, beginning the process of pulling it down.  
A single sound halted his inner-workings.  
Shame at the sensation that pathetic squeak brought was now intermixed with the rest of his chaotic mind.  
He couldn't bear to look at his junior anymore, he tightened his grip and lowered himself, the chest beneath him spasming.  
Gritting his teeth as the rest of him became rigid, he hoped that the cool tile under them both would offset the heat painting his face. The quiet struggles of his doll stuck to his left ear as a bewitching honey. 

"O... Oshi-"

His mortal vessel bellowed at him, sobbed to him, pleaded to end the damage taking place.   
Unfortunately his heart barked louder orders.  
His hands flailed, gripping at the precious air around the two as if to catch some. Odd pleasure erupted through him as he heaved, the exhilaration of breaking his mentor's law lulled him into a drunk state.  
Between shallow gulps he forced out the name he had stolen. Strange to think of the traitor during the bliss he was receiving, he cast that thought aside as to not sour the moment.   
Elation overwhelmed him, causing him to ignore his shrinking field of vision, the numbness throughout his body.   
Happy is what he felt.

_"Oshi-san is holding me"_ plagued all mental processes.

In his delirium he thought he had heard his name, imbued with horror.  
Tragedy struck in the form of release.   
Away was the weight, confusion and pain forcing themselves in place.  
He coughed for eternities before and after the two. The doll's mouth inhaling at a speed faster than he could understand, nearly choking again on the one thing he was deprived of mere moments before.  
He felt himself curl haphazardly, holding his own chest, vaguely aware of Mentor's presence.   
A tense silence followed after his breathing leveled.

"..."

The lividness of Shu's frigid stare sliced into Kagehira. The grotesque mockery laid on the floor with a smile smudged onto his face. His wordless thanks infuriated him, though not as much as the question that manifested within himself;

How much longer will he last next time? 

**Author's Note:**

> *puts down the sleeping pills and coffee i just downed at 2am* one day i will figure out what the fuck im doing when i write and that day will be never Stan Valkyrie or whatever


End file.
